


Warrior's Wolf Tail

by lunargoodness



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Avatar the last hairbender, Gen, Hakoda (Avatar) is a Good Parent, Or at least he tries to be, Southern Water Tribe, and I love it, dadkoda, fragile masculinity meets good hair, haircuts are just real important in atla, poor Sokka, sokka needs his dad, sokka's hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24720004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunargoodness/pseuds/lunargoodness
Summary: Why Sokka's hair is the way it is.
Relationships: Hakoda & Sokka (Avatar)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 237





	Warrior's Wolf Tail

**Author's Note:**

> So, I realized that between Books 2 and 3, Sokka’s hairstyle changes and he stops shaving the sides of his head It’s probably good camouflage while going undercover in the hair=honor fire nation, but I also thought about how every other water tribe man has long hair, and about how Zuko shaved his head (except for the ponytail) to reflect his whole lack of honor thing and… it got me thinking about Sokka’s fun and perky wolf tail, and what it might mean. So in my head, little kids have whatever kinda hair until they’re like 6-8. Then their fathers tell them they need to start preparing to take responsibility around the tribe, etc., and they adopt the hairstyle Sokka has, which is basically “I’m still a kid but I’ll be a man soon, once I prove myself.” Then, when they’ve done the whole ice-dodging thing, done their first hunt with the men, and are ready to join the crew of a ship, they are supposed to let their hair grow out, like Hakoda and Bato.

Sokka kept his hair neat. He knew his father and the rest of the men who had left to fight were probably seaworn, and he knew haircuts weren’t important to his father, or his father’s men. They all had long hair.

But Sokka kept his hair neat, because he was just a kid. Kids kept the sides of their heads shaved, because they weren’t seafaring men, gone for months. The very youngest kids had full heads of hair - their mothers wouldn’t dare get close to their fidgety heads with a sharp blade. The older boys had mothers and grandmothers to give them weekly haircuts. Well, Sokka didn’t, but he never asked Katara to help him. This, at least, he could handle on his own. 

And he did. Every few weeks. Diligently. Because if he couldn’t fight with the men, what right did he have to try and imitate them around the village. He grew taller, his voice got deeper, but he walked around the village with the exact same haircut he’d had for years. He was the oldest boy left. The men were all gone. 

......................................................................................

The way his hair looked didn’t mean much to Katara. She knew there was some kind of complex about hair and manliness, but she was too young to remember any specifics. She remembered her mother running a blade over Sokka’s scalp, but that was before. She knew her father wouldn’t actually explain - it wasn’t important, just some stuff among the men. Sokka would _never_ tell her. And so those memories floated down to the deeper recesses of her mind. All she really knew was that her brother was really touchy about his hair.

Sokka knew she didn’t really understand. They were out fishing - it felt like they were _always_ fishing - and Sokka was sitting glumly at the bow, keeping an eye on the nets but clutching his mittens to his ears, trying to keep warm. 

“Hey Mittenhead!” Sokka rolled his eyes. She was going to make jabs at him, or splash him, or both. He turned around and gave her his best skeptical, bored look. It wasn’t as effective with the mittens pressed to the sides of his head, but it was _really cold_.

“Why don’t you just grow out your hair, Mittenhead? It’ll keep your ears warm, see?” She tugged her hair down around her ears.

Everything in him broiled with frustration and indignation. “Grow my hair _to keep my head warm, Katara?!”_ He knew he was shouting, but that was… he wasn’t his father, he couldn’t just… just… What was she thinking?!

“Well, if you’re going to be all hotheaded about it, maybe you _shouldn’t_ grow it out.”

He’d gone apoplectic after that, and she never mentioned it again. 

Sokka had learned two things on that outing: first, his sister had no clue about anything manly, and second, she’d accidentally hit on the truth anyway. Their father never lost his head like Sokka did. If he couldn’t be the mature one around his little sister, then yeah. Maybe he shouldn’t grow it out. 

......................................................................................

Over the long flights, he’d thought about following Katara’s suggestion. Just grow it out. It would be easier than keeping it shaved, especially while traveling. Katara was clueless, and nobody else outside of the southern water tribe would have any clue what it meant, what he would be claiming. 

Then, they’d run into Bato, and he’d heard about his father and the rest of the fleet, and he’d gotten an eyeful of Bato’s arm, fully wrapped in bandages to heal the burn. What was one ice-dodging run compared to all that? 

He kept shaving the sides of his head.

Even after they reached the North Pole, and he’d had his first kiss. Even when he looked around the room at the other warriors who had volunteered for a deadly mission and seen only men. Hahn, who was barely older than him and a total tundragoat, kept his hair long. Hahn was acknowledged and welcomed by the men of the tribe, was considered a good match for Yue. 

But he would protect her, on the chief’s orders. He’d earn their respect. He’d earn his standing with the tribe, with the warriors, and with the men. 

Yue died.

Sokka kept shaving the sides of his head.

......................................................................................

Sokka liked to make camp. 

Well, he didn’t particularly like the process of _making_ camp, but he did like _having_ camp. Doing camp? 

Either way, he liked having a tent set up, or at least a soft patch of grass near Appa to lay his sleeping bag out on. He liked sending Katara to the nearest stream to fill up a jug of water. He liked to have a nice fire, and he liked curling up in their little patch of camp to go to sleep for as long as possible, without breaking schedule.

Sokka did _not_ like making camp six times a night and then having to pack it all up again and flee. So when Appa dumped them all unceremoniously on the ground, Sokka gave up on camp and crawled off to find the softest pile of dirt he could sleep on.

Of course, that set off Toph and his sister, who had been at each others’ throats all night. But Sokka was dedicated to his sleep. He tried to shut them out, picturing the steady rhythm of a canoe oar, but luckily the great hope for peace stepped in. “We don’t even know who’s chasing us!” Aang groaned, deflecting their argument

“It could be Zuko. We haven’t seen him since the North Pole.” _Right. Not since Zuko and his ashmaker buddies had forced Yue to give up her life._

“Who’s Zuko?” Toph asked.

Sokka didn’t want Katara or Aang recounting the whole story. A) it would hurt and B) he really really needed to sleep. He headed them off in the conversation. “Oh, just some angry freak with a ponytail who's tracked us all over the world.”

“What’s wrong with ponytails, ponytail?” Katara shot back. He could hear her smirk. His little sister was in rare form tonight, hitting every nerve that he and Toph had between them. His instinct was to defend himself, but he was _so tired._ Face down, he scowled into the dirt, which wasn’t actually that soft.

“ _This_ is a _warrior’s wolf tail_.” 

“Well, it certainly tells the other warriors that you’re fun and perky.”

She had no idea what it was telling the other warriors. Sokka was trying. He was really trying to keep his patience with her. It’s what Dad would expect. He changed the subject, trying to just get them all to stop talking so he could get a _few minutes of sleep, please, I’m begging you please sshhhhhh_ but then Momo chattered and Sokka saw the tank again and all hope of rest or sleep or coherent thought disappeared. 

As they squared up to face the three absolutely terrifying girls from Omashu, Toph said, “We can take them. Three on Three.”

“Actually, Toph, there’s four of us," Sokka corrected.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't count you. You know, no bending and all.”

The fun, perky, humiliating comment about his wolf tail. The total dismissal by Toph, who by the way was tiny and pale and blind and _twelve years old_ and still got _his_ respect. It blew apart every restraint Sokka had built up.

“I CAN STILL FIGHT!!!” 

“Okay, three on three plus Sokka.”

"ERRRRGHGHHGHGH"

Later, flying away from Knives, Lightning, and the Flippy One _yet again_ , he kept chewing over the words from earlier. _Fun. Perky. Three plus Sokka._ He desperately needed sleep, but it wouldn't come.

......................................................................................

They’d been on the ship together for four days before Hakoda noticed. He kicked himself for not noticing sooner. He thought he’d been soaking up every second with his children after they fled Ba Sing Se, but it took him four days to realize something was odd about Sokka, and another day to put his finger on what, exactly, it was. Had he been away from the customs and cycles of the tribe that long? 

Hakoda decided to broach the subject after another long session adapting the invasion plan - Sokka’s plan, as Katara kept pointing out.

Bato and Katara filed out of the Captain’s quarters, where they kept the maps and met for strategy discussions. Hakoda stood up as Sokka carefully rolled up the fire nation map - what lengths had he gone to to find that? - and deposited it in a metal tube for safekeeping. He was worried, Hakoda could tell by the set of his brow, but he didn’t want to put this conversation off. There was so much he had missed already.

“Sokka, son, I have to ask.” 

Sokka’s attention snapped back from whatever concern he’d been agonizing over. “Yeah, Dad?”

“Why haven’t you let your hair grow yet?”

The boy’s spine straightened. “What?”

“Son, you’re still shaving it? I know it really doesn’t matter anymore, I know it’s silly to keep up with these traditions in the middle of a war - ”

“Or left alone in the middle of nowhere.”

Hakoda took a long pause. He deserved it, and he expected it from Katara, but from Sokka? He looked over at his son. His boy had flint in his eyes.

"Right," Hakoda started again. "I know these traditions aren't the most important thing in the world right now, but I can't help but notice, you're still cutting your hair like you did when I left."

"Well yeah. You and the men left, and I obviously didn't go with you, so..." Sokka trailed off. He glared down at the table.

Hakoda knew what Sokka was getting at. He knew that Bato had taken him on his first ice-dodging run, a fact that stung deeply. It was meant to be something young men did with their tribesmen. He also knew that ice-dodging wasn't the only thing Sokka had missed out on. There were ceremonies, and hunts, and the welcome from the warriors that would have marked him as a man of the Southern Water Tribe. But he couldn't possibly look at Sokka, at his son, and call him a boy still.

“I look at you, Sokka, and I see a man. You protected your sister, which is more than I could do. You defended your village - Katara told me. You saved the Avatar-”

“No, I didn’t. Katara did that. She didn’t need protecting, she’s the one that saved Aang. I- I’m barely keeping up.”

“You’ve taken on far more than any ki- than any man ever should. When I was your age, I was still trying to dodge hull-scraping duties.”

Sokka looked tired. Too tired. 

“I know, Dad. I know, it’s a lot for a bunch of kids, but… we have to.”

Hakoda felt like he was being torn in two. But he looked at his son, and he saw that Sokka had more strength in him than Hakoda could ever imagine. He saw that his child, with his child’s haircut, looking not too different from the little kid he’d said goodbye to, had shouldered the mantle of a full-fledged warrior. Like it or not, his son had grown into a man. And it had all happened while he, Hakoda, was gone. 

"First of all, you're not a kid. You're a warrior, a braver warrior than any I've seen. Second of all, you don't need anyone to tell you that. You can know it for yourself. Far be it from me or anyone else to tell you whether you're a boy, or a man, or a warrior, or a hero."

Sokka's whole face crumpled. He turned away and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hide his tears from his father.

“So what I’m really trying to say, Sokka, is… quit shaving your head already, and grow out your hair.” Hakoda tried for a joking smile, but he wasn’t sure he hit it quite right.

Even still, Sokka turned and looked up at him, his face brighter than the sun off the ocean. 

Hakoda put his hands on his son’s shoulders. “If you’re going to stick to tradition, at least do it right.”

......................................................................................

When Aang woke up again, Sokka couldn’t help but notice that his hair was about as long as Aang’s. Aang didn’t seem too excited about it, but then again, Air monks or whatever kept their heads bald. It didn’t mean the same thing to Airbenders as it did to a warrior of the Southern Water Tribe. Toph had accidentally brushed her arm against his head, and he’d just explained that it was good cover while in Fire Nation waters. Katara barely noticed. Bato threw his father a knowing glance, but never said anything to Sokka. 

But Sokka tried to hold his head a little bit higher after that. 


End file.
